Turn to me
by missEris
Summary: Linday finds a friend where she least expects to. Set after 4.17.


She sat cross legged on the wall, looking out across the city, the wind whipping through her hair

She sat cross legged on the wall, looking out across the city, the wind whipping through her hair. With a heavy sigh she closed her eyes, feeling her body swaying in the breeze. It was cathartic; the gentle rocking movement that made her feel as though she was floating up over the city, floating away from everything that was causing her pain.

"Don't do it," a voice spoke softly behind her.

"Don't do what?"

"Jump. Don't jump."

She slowly opened her eyes and turned her head to blink up at him. She gave a small, sad smile.

"Whatever is wrong in my life I would never do that," she replied honestly.

She heard his relieved sigh as he shuffled towards the wall, sitting down next to her but with his back to the landscape, his feet still firmly on the gravel of the rooftop.

"So," he began, "what is wrong in your life?"

She looked surprised. She thought he knew, she thought they all knew. She swivelled around, her legs swinging in front of her while her hands gripped the wall to steady herself, she chuckled lightly as she saw his panicked expression, felt his hand grip hold of her arm in case she lost her balance.

"Scaredy cat," she said with a laugh.

"Just looking out for ya," he replied.

They sat, both sets of eyes gazing into the distance.

"I fell in love," she whispered eventually, "I didn't plan on it, I tried not to," she added with the lightest of shrugs.

"Falling in love should be a good thing," he said.

"Yeah." A half smile, a wistful dream.

"But not for you?" he asked.

Another shrug, a sigh.

"Bad timing," she said.

"He doesn't feel the same?"

Her eyes shot to his face, her gaze trying to read his expression.

"I guess not."

"Maybe you got it wrong," he said.

"He's going through a rough time."

"That's no excuse for hurting you," he bit out angrily.

A deep frown marred her brow. She didn't know where this conversation was going. He shouldn't be talking to her, not like this. He wasn't _her_ friend, not really.

"I think he slept with someone else," she whispered eventually.

She kept staring at his profile, expecting him to look at her, but he didn't. There was no way she could miss the clenching of his jaw, the only evidence of the shock that coursed through him.

"He's an idiot."

"Yeah," she breathed out slowly, the word captured by the wind virtually inaudible.

"You got any idea who she was?" he asked.

"His neighbour, the one whose son was killed."

He nodded, his shoulders slumping a little in acknowledgement.

"That must've hurt," he said.

"Not as much as him shutting me out. I know that sounds weird but I figure if he'd let me be there for him, if I'd been someone he felt able to turn to then he wouldn't have needed . . . . . ."

"I'm sure it's not you. You know he's a fuck up with stuff like this."

"I know," she said simply. There were no excuses, no condemnation, just an acceptance of the reality, an understanding of his flaws.

"You should be angry," he said, finally turning towards her, his blue eyes holding her gaze with their intensity.

"I don't think I have any right to be angry, not really. He didn't promise me anything; dinner, drinks, a few laughs – that's what we were."

"I think you were a lot more than that."

"I liked to think so," she said with another sigh.

"I'm sure of it."

"Then why?" she asked, blinking against the breeze that was stinging her eyes. She wouldn't admit that the tears were hers.

"They were going through the same thing. Comfort I guess. Understanding."

"I could've given him that."

"You know what he's like; maybe he didn't want you to see him like that. Maybe he didn't want to taint what the two of you had," he replied.

"So what?" she snapped suddenly, "instead he decided to taint what we had with her?"

He watched as she swiped at the tears falling from her eyes. He was glad to see her emotion, happy to see the anger bubbling out from her. She _should_ be angry, she had every right.

"It's my fault anyway," she said on a broken sob.

"Why?" he asked, "Why would that be your fault?"

"I pushed him away. Shut him out," she replied, "I don't think he trusted me with this. Before, when I was going through . . . . stuff, he . . . uh . . .," she took a shaky breath, trying to control her thoughts, "he was there for me, but I pushed him away. I can hardly blame him for thinking I wouldn't be there for him. I didn't make myself clear, I tried but every time I just clammed up, it was awkward ya know? Like I didn't know how to comfort him, so I just carried on like before, trying to give him space, trying to be there if he needed me. I just don't think I was clear enough. I've never been good at this sort of thing."

"He feels guilty," he said.

"I know. I just wish he'd talk to me."

"Maybe he doesn't want to hurt you anymore," he replied, "Maybe . . .," he paused, coughing a little to clear his throat, "maybe he thinks you deserve better than him."

"Who's better than the one you love?" she asked.

He looked at her intently, their eyes locking and silence engulfing them.

"No-one's better," he said finally, "but we all do stupid things when we're hurting."

"Yeah," she said, "god knows I did some stupid things when . . . . . when I was younger."

"When your friends were killed?" he asked.

She nodded. "I pushed everyone away, everyone who tried to help me. I went a bit wild, did some stupid things. Sometimes it seems as though I'll never stop doing stupid things."

"You have to try and move on from it Linds."

"Easier said than done. I can't help but regret stuff."

"Do you regret him?" he asked.

"No!" she said quickly, shaking her head, "I regret not letting him in. I think now that he would have made things better if I had trusted him, just like I think he might have come to me this time if I had gone to him then."

"You both need to let it go," he said honestly, "let go of the guilt, the pain and see what is left. You might both be pleasantly surprised."

"How?" she asked, "How do we do that?"

"Talk to each other," he advised, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What if he won't?"

"I think he will," he said, staring back at her a moment before jumping down from the wall, "give him a chance, I don't think he'll let you down again."

She felt hope flare momentarily in her chest. Maybe he was right. Maybe . . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by him moving in towards her. She blinked in surprise when she felt his hand brush the hair from her eyes. She stared into his clear blue gaze, her breath hitching in her throat as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against her brow. He moved back suddenly.

"See ya," he whispered as he turned on his heel and walked away.

She stared at his retreating form, wishing for the courage to make a move.

8888888

She stood just inside the locker room door, staring at him, watching him as he sat on the bench, his head in his hands. Taking a step inside she opened her mouth to speak.

"Hey," she whispered.

His head snapped up, his eyes searching hers. She took the necessary steps towards him, stopping only inches in front of him.

"We should talk," she said simply.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked softly.

"A friend," she said, "I talked to a friend."

He nodded in understanding. "Yeah," he said, "Me too. I'd missed her . . .," he paused as his voice cracked, "I'd missed her so much."

She watched as tears flooded his eyes, a broken sob wrenched from the back of his throat. She made her move, took the step that brought them together. Her hand reached out so her fingers could run through his hair, his own hands reaching out to draw her to him.

He buried his face against her stomach, lost himself in her softness as they finally began to heal. Together.


End file.
